Changelings
by The Stone Troubadour
Summary: Whatever happens to those claimed by the trolls in the mountains? Do they eat the unfortunate ones to get caught, or does their magic warp the unlucky human into something dark and dangerous? [Late Halloween fic! To be honest, it's odd & was written very late at night, so it might not make a whole lot of sense.]


"I've come to reclaim Princess Anna, my fiancee, and her sister, Queen Elsa!" Hans shouted into the mist, his mount shifting uncomfortably underneath him. He couldn't blame the beast, this place was enough to make a man lose his wits if he stayed too long.

"Reclaim…?" a voice spoke from the dark, an odd tinge to it – like a wolf's growl, or the throaty huff of a bear. "Were they yours to begin with, little Princeling?"

Hans blinked at that, taken aback by the question. "I should say not!" Not entirely true, as he considered Anna his – she was promised to him now as his wife-to-be. "I come to reclaim them for Arendelle, to see them safely returned home," he responded, ever trying to sound noble and just, as an heir of the Southern Isles should.

A rumbling chuckle sounded out in the glade of stone, seeming to stir the very rocks themselves. "Then you won't mind if I keep them, hm? It does get rather lonesome up here, all by myself…"

This was getting him nowhere, Hans fumed to himself, quickly growing irritated by his shadowy opponent. "Show yourself, cur! I'll not be mocked by a coward who lurks in the fog and shadows!"

There was no reply, but Hans' straining ears caught a solid thud somewhere off to his right, his horse cantering away from the noise and movement.

"You've got quite an attitude for a guest in my home," the rough voice growled, a figure now vaguely visible in the mist. It was large and broad, and clearly stood on two legs – though it was currently hunched over like a predator ready to pounce, large hands and feet planted on the rocky ground to balance its large frame. It looked human in form, but Hans could not say for sure.

"Your home?" Hans scoffed, seeing nothing but rock and moss. This was no home – at least, not one fit for a person. Which left the niggling question in the back of his mind – just _what_ was he dealing with here?

"Yes…Wouldn't you like to stay?" the figure murmured, abruptly lunging forward – clawed hands swiping through the fog and at the Prince's horse.

Hans' mount let out a terrified shriek, rearing back and throwing the man off; the horse bolting, disappearing into the dense mists. The Prince swore as he hit the ground, gloved hands grasping blindly at the gravel as he fought to right himself. Groaning, Hans raised his head from the ground, a bloody scrape across his cheek and jaw – green eyes going wide and mouth agape at what he saw before him.

It was…a man, for the most part – but deformed with animal-like features. Long nails – _claws_ – like that of a bear. The sharp, gleaming fangs of a wolf; canine teeth extended longer than a normal man's. He wore furs, shaggy and dense, almost blurring into uniform with the dirty blond hair on his head. Great antlers stuck up from his head, attached by the furs or sprouting from his skull, Hans could not tell.

"A-And if I refuse?" Hans shot back, scrambling to his feet, still not quite eye to eye with this creature.

"You may refuse."

A brief exhale of relief.

"But there is no way back from this valley. _My_ valley," the feral man grinned, wolfish, brown eyes gleaming with a strange sort of light. "My family is…unique. Good at making people lose their way, forget themselves….Once you cross over the stones at the border of this valley, there's no coming out."

His sword forgotten at his side, Hans couldn't stand this foul place and even fouler company no longer.

He ran.

And the beast ran after him, swift for something so large.

"Run, little Princeling, run! Lost, you are _lost_ – weep for your memories, they shall bring you no comfort here…"

It taunted and teased, chasing him like it was a game; through mossy ravines and stony pathways it never let up, but it did not go in for the kill. If he stopped to catch his breath, it stopped with him. Once he started running, it took up the chase once again. Hans couldn't say how long he ran – minutes, hours, nothing made sense in this place. There was no sun, no light but the odd glows that danced in the fog.

"Stone and rock comes alive beneath your feet, burying you down, down in the deep. You don't remember, don't recall…but for the crystals' glow, you'll leave it all in the valley. Come, rest your head, join our family…"

All Hans could see was fog, and the glow – and little eyes in the rocks and stone. He wandered, and roamed, in a state of awake but asleep and asleep but awake.

And then, he could not recall, what had brought him to the valley. And nothing was ever heard of again from Prince Hans of the Southern Isles down in the city, far below the Valley of Living Rock, where the trolls are said to make people disappear into the mountains.

Never seen again, but by the unlucky traveler who gets caught in the mist.


End file.
